


Wasn't Always Like This

by ZMoon



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Serious Injuries, Suffering, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29914842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZMoon/pseuds/ZMoon
Summary: There was a time before Demencia, before 5.0.5.A time when it was just the scientist and the creature that was shaped like a human, living alone in a mansion.A time before Flug found himself in such a place before he was eternally bound to an esoteric entity.Sometimes Dr. Flug Slys finds himself staring at one of his companions and remembering that it wasn't always like this.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Wasn't Always Like This

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is born out of two things: my self-hatred and my curiosity of "Hey, how did everyone get here and why do they stay here?" 
> 
> Flug suffers a lot, but he also causes a lot of suffering. An abused abuser, if you will. Keep that in mind before you start. 
> 
> I have a general idea of how this is gonna go, but a lot depends on reception and general life stuff. Tags will be added, and things will get worse before they get better.

Another night of stinging showers and clear water running pink, a night of Vicodin if he had any left. A night of simple interrupted sutures, steady hands fueled by muscle memory, another scar on top of countless others, weeks of disinfectant and stinging and tears.

Doctor Flug knew it was going to be a night like this as soon as he woke up, eyes closed, and felt pain.

What had it been this time? He thought as he awoke on the concrete floor. It was always one of three things: his boss, an experiment gone wrong, or himself. 

Flug was lying curled on his side, legs tucked up protectively, arms crossed in his sleep -- not an unusual position for him. He kept his eyes closed out of habit, listened for anything that could hurt him, assessed the damage to himself.  
The wound felt like a burn at the base of his neck, lightning striking down his spine at the slightest movement. The edge of his paper bag lighted against it with each breath, stinging him. He wanted to keep still, but that wouldn't help him, he knew. Infected wounds were hell. He needed to care for himself now or risk more pain.

He steeled himself to get up, bracing for the pain he knew would happen, taking deep breaths.

Beyond the smell of paper and sweat, the room smelled like pork. Burned human flesh. Based on how he felt, probably his own. He opened his eyes to see the legs of CamBot, gaze traveling up the body of the robot to meet its single black camera eye fixated on him.

It was still live streaming.

He stiffened.

"E-end the livestream," he wheezed, and sagged in relief when the red recording light blinked off and the bot went into sleep mode. His burn was jostled as he wilted, and he whimpered.

He tried to collect his memories. His mind felt fuzzy, static, and he stopped instantly. Either he would remember later or he wouldn't. He had learned early on in his employment not to seek out things he couldn't remember, not to go through CamBot's recordings, not to ask his boss, not to stay awake at night trying to fill in his mind's holes. 

If his subconscious didn't want him to know something, he didn't want to know it either. 

He knew the perfect distraction.

He pushed himself up to his knees in one quick motion, before the pain could cripple him to the floor. 

The pain was intense and instantaneous, and he swayed, an involuntary keen coming from his throat. He put a gloved hand on the floor to steady himself, wheezed in and out, a quick one-two one-two.

He sat on his knees for a moment, recuperating. Get up too soon, and he would fall -- this he knew from experience.

He was in one of the recording rooms, he realized. CamBot idled in the corner, there were boxes of equipment off to the side and out of sight. A green-screen was behind him, filling the edges of his vision. 

Something smelled dead. He inhaled, turned his neck to look, yelped in pain, and didn't move it again. After a few moments, he turned his torso, which still hurt but not as badly, to see the box of dead rats.

He remembered and shuddered despite his pain.

He'd finished the final form of a new product, one that was meant to use electric shocks to allow the user a puppet-like control of another living thing. Everything was last-minute, he hadn’t had time to find proper test subjects… He had meant to use the rats as the examples during the commercial, but the shocks had killed them, even at the lowest setting... and then, then...

Black Hat had growled that he would use his pathetic excuse of a scientist instead...

His mind went mercifully blank there. He closed his eyes, pushed the bad memories into the ocean of others like it.

He'd go to the lab, he'd take a look at his injuries, he'd treat them the best he could, and fall asleep on the lab cot after popping some Vicodin.

Oh, how he itched for some pain medications. He was going to get addicted if he kept getting injured like this.

Lab, look, meds, sleep. He repeated the mantra in his head as he got to his feet unsteadily. His electrical burn was screaming at him, now, and he was panting in pain, a little whimper coming out with each exhale.

"Ha, ah, ahh, ah, stupid nerves, stupid mammal brain, ahh, ah, ah..."

The walls seemed to move, and he realized he was walking and began concentrating on his steps so as not to trip.

Lab, look, meds, sleep.

Down the hallway, right turn.

Lab, look, meds, sleep.

Put a hand on the wall, slide forward, catch yourself. Red carpet spinning. Rest ten seconds, keep walking, one hand on the wall.

Lab, lab, lab, lab...

Stairs. Stairs were good. Stairs were close to the lab.

Lab, look, meds, sleep.

Down the stairs, cling to the banister with two gloved hands. One step at a time. There were fifteen steps -- he had counted on days like this, was counting the steps now. His back tingled painfully.

Ground floor. Flug sighed and sat at the bottom step for a moment, knowing it would be harder when he had to get up again, too tired to care. He leaned his head on the hard wooden banister, if only for a moment.

He jolted awake to the sensation of something hard and cold under his chin, and he cringed away, back hitting the edge of the stair and filling his brain with pain. He hissed quietly, shifted away, beat the sensation down. There was only one other person (if they could even be counted as a person) it could be, and Flug forced his eyes open, tilted his head up to see.

"Boss?"

There he was, Black Hat, looking down on him with a disdainful expression. In one gloved hand, he held his cane, which he had used to poke the doctor awake.

"What do you think you're doing?" Black Hat growled, his voice shooting straight into some tiny lizard part of Flug's brain from millions of years ago, when his species was running from predators and making him think fear fear fear fear fear.

"Answer me," Black Hat said, rapping Flug sharply on the side of his neck. It was enough to make him whimper, but compared to what he'd got before, it was a love tap, meant to get his attention.

"Sorry," Flug said automatically, hands coming to his chest and wringing together without a second thought. "I-I was going to the lab, and I got tired and I sat down for a moment and sirpleasedon'thurt--"

Black Hat had leaned forward, looming over him in a way that didn't quite make sense with any human skeletal structure, had put one large hand over his entire left shoulder. Flug trembled, had closed his eyes.

"My poor doctor," Black Hat said, mockingly sweet, running his thumb over the back of Flug's neck in what would have been a sweet gesture had it not been directly on an electrical burn. 

Flug made a pained noise that sounded something like "ah-hhhnnn."

"Can you work like this?" Black Hat asked, tracing the outline of the worst of the burn with one pointer claw. He fondly remembered the look in his scientist's eyes when he grabbed the Electrapuppeter, right before shooting him at the top of his spine, which Flug had explained was the ideal spot. It had worked wonderfully, he was already getting orders, and the fact that it left its victims in such a helpless state made it more popular.

"Nnnn," Flug said, shaking, arms crossed and hands clutching at his lab coat's sleeves. "Nn-not very effectively, sir."

Black Hat suddenly snaked his hand under Flug's shirt, splayed his entire palm over the burn, and Flug inhaled sharply.

"Wai--!"

He didn't get to finish the word before Black Hat started healing him.

The screams were quite pleasant to Black Hat as he wove broken and blistered flesh together beneath his palm, felt it wriggling under his leather glove like so many worms. Eventually, the screams stopped, replaced by whimpers, and Black Hat knew his scientist had lost consciousness with the shock of healing faster than any human ought to. 

Flug tipped forward bonelessly, and Black Hat grabbed his shoulder with his free hand to prevent him from cracking his head open on the floor, dematerializing his cane as he did so. He pulled his healing hand away, held the shirt open, and looked at the new scar tissue there. Satisfied, he effortlessly pulled the smaller man off the staircase and allowed him to sprawl on the room's dark red carpet accenting the staircase. Then he disappeared.

Flug woke up on the floor for the third time in a row and groaned. His whole body was throbbing with pain, he felt like one big bruise.

Then he remembered and gasped. He removed one of his gloves and threw his naked hand down the back of his shirt, feeling the tender new scar tissue there. He sighed in relief and replaced his glove as he got to his feet. Black filled his vision as his circulatory system complained.

He hurt, but not unbearably. He was also incredibly hungry. 

Well, he could deal with both those things in one go. He was already on the right floor.

Flug made his way to the kitchen, mentally assessing himself as he went. He could think a lot more clearly when his brain wasn't being flooded with cortisol.

He always had a day-long break after making something successful. And the Electrapuppeter… was very successful, he knew from experience. He shuddered and put that thought away.

He would sleep, and he would feel better. He checked his watch.

Eleven at night. The livestream had started at six. Oh, he would get a full night of sleep! The thought made him smile under his bag.

He kept some medicine in one of the kitchen drawers for situations like this. He pulled out the drawer filled with white plastic bottles and creams, picked out one marked with red Sharpie. He downed the two opioids without water in a practiced motion and sighed in relief.

The kitchen, despite its large size, was relatively bare, needing only enough to feed one person -- himself. Black Hat did not eat regular food, and Flug asked no questions of him. And so, when he had groceries delivered biweekly, Flug bought things he liked.

Flug had a frozen pizza (meat lover's from Digiorno, which was owned by Nestle, the evilest pizza) he'd been saving for just this occasion when he finished a product successfully. He preheated the oven and sat down on top of the black granite counter to wait, feeling cheerful enough to swing his legs back and forth. The oven clicked and he pulled the pizza out of the freezer, leaving behind a bag of fish sticks and a carton of cookie dough ice cream. He unboxed and unwrapped and put the pizza in the oven before setting the timer and returning to the counter.

He didn't bother looking around before peeling off his sweaty paper bag and foggy lab goggles. His boss never came into the kitchen, and he was alone.

All alone.

The house settled with an eerie groan and he yelped, arms instantly over his head, heart leaping into his throat, before realizing it was nothing and chuckling nervously. He removed his gloves and went to the sink, relishing the feeling of cool water over his hot skin, splashing it on his face.

He would have to shave his hair again soon, he thought as he ran a hand through the inches-long fuzz on his head. The bag was already too hot, hair did not help him. Tomorrow would be a good day for that.

He took his phone out of his front pocket as he settled back onto the counter to check his calendar, smiled at the blank day for him tomorrow. He read the news for the next twenty minutes, jerked when the oven beeped, and nearly dropped his phone.

He ate the whole large pizza, knowing constant stress and his ridiculously high metabolism would completely annihilate the calories. During the Halloween rush season or when Black Hat was driving him particularly hard, he would go for days eating only granola bars or protein shakes during ten-minute breaks. If he pulled his shirt up and looked at himself, he could see the light outline of his ribs with each inhale (along with many, many scars).

But he did not. He was very opposed to looking at himself. There was a single large hand mirror wrapped in a towel in his bathroom cabinet, and he only used it when he had to stitch himself in particularly difficult spots like his shoulder. The bathroom mirror had been covered by printer paper crinkled with humidity and tape, as he'd mastered the art of shaving without it. He took his showers and dressed in the dark. That was the extent of it.

Flug hummed as he threw away the trash from his meal and put on a fresh bag from his back pocket. The painkillers had kicked in, he was full, the lowest level of his hierarchy of needs was as filled as it could be in the house of Black Hat. He would never quite be safe, but he would take what he could get.

When had his standards gotten so low?

He wilted a little at the thought, and then shook himself. 

No! He was not going to ruin a good day by overthinking!

He made his way to his room upstairs and closed the door behind him. He inhaled the comforting scent of lavender and chamomile from the air freshener he had bought, admired the glow-in-the-dark stars he had arranged into an accurate constellation map on the ceiling before turning on the light.

Doctor Flug got physically abused almost on the daily, but working for Black Hat Inc. left him loaded.

Despite this, his room wasn't ostentatious. In fact, a stranger examining the room might think it belonged to a very nerdy high schooler preparing for a career as a pilot or astronaut. An entire bookcase was dedicated to model planes, another was filled with thick books on aviation and science fiction. The single-size bed in the corner was neatly made with fluffy galaxy print blankets and sheets. There was a desk littered with blueprints -- personal projects that were interesting to Flug but unlikely to be as profitable as Black Hat wanted.

Flug had no idea his room wasn't what the average working adult's room looked like. He'd only ever been in one adult bedroom -- his parents' room -- and he had no desire to emulate that. He simply bought what he would use and what made him happy. If what made him happy were glow-in-the-dark stars, a soft stuffed rabbit to hold or cry into at night, and a realistic moon-shaped night light, so be it. His sanity was always hanging by a thread due to living alone with an eldritch abomination, he literally could not afford to deprive himself of any scrap of happiness he could find.

"Hello, Fluffy," he murmured, scooping the rabbit up and nuzzling it to his bare cheek before returning it to its place by the pillow.

He could take a shower tomorrow, he thought, as he pulled out a pair of sweatpants and loose NASA shirt to sleep in. Automatically, he flicked off the light to undress. The doctor tossed his clothes onto the floor as he crawled into bed, pulling the covers over his head out of habit before remembering that was unhealthy. Well, he'd found a way around that -- he'd bought an afghan blanket with lots of naturally occurring holes in the stitching, allowing him to be covered while also remaining breathable. So he left one blanket over his head, and the rest covered his body. It was a cozy system.

"I had a good day today," he told Fluffy after he was curled under the protective layers of fabric. "Boss healed me after I got hurt. And tonight I get to sleep. It's good."

He curled tighter around Fluffy and inhaled their scent -- lavender, his favorite, he'd bought them with a scented disc inside.

The first few months of employment had been incredibly lonely -- his boss was not one for conversation, and Flug had been so starved for interaction he'd go to the store in person (previously a hated task) just to have a conversation with the cashier. Fluffy had been a present to himself for a particularly successful month… and the talking to them just sort of happened. It was therapeutic, and nobody saw him, so why stop?

He fell asleep in minutes.

\--

Flug woke up. 

Immediately he felt the prickling on the back of his neck and went still out of instinct, breath held, listening quietly. 

There was a pounding at his door and he yelped.

"Y-yes boss?"

"Come out," Black Hat replied. 'I got you a present."

'This is it,' Flug thought. 'He's done with me. He's going to kill me and get a new scientist who isn't a nervous wreck.'

Terror and relief flooded Flug as he slipped out of bed and pulled on a fresh bag before opening his door, hands shaking, expecting some terrible monstrosity (other than his boss) or a killer robot or something other than…

A girl?

No, Flug thought, glancing at her, she was at least as old as him. She was barefoot, with a mane of tangled hair and wearing… well, she was wearing something, but it showed so much Flug doubted it could count as clothes. Her eyes looked at Flug for a moment before returning to her feet, expression dead.

"Sir?" Flug asked as he averted his eyes from her and looked at Black Hat.

"Can you not hear? I said I got you a gift," Black Hat said, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her forward a little. "She's yours to do with as you want." 

Flug blinked. It couldn't be...

"Why?" He asked cautiously, quietly.

"Do I have to spell it out for you? I thought you were smart," Black Hat growled. "I'm getting tired of healing you after your pathetic body can't handle your own experiments. She is your human test subject. She is your human stress toy. It is to improve your effectiveness and efficiency."

"...oh," Flug managed. He felt… disgust? Shame? Something was sitting heavily in his chest, making it hard to swallow. 

Black Hat sneered at him and dematerialized with the sound of flesh being ripped apart. Flug shuddered at the sound -- it had appeared behind him many times, to hurt him, yell at him…

He shook his head and looked at the woman in front of him. She was still expressionless, but her shoulders were shaking a little. Flug suddenly became aware of his eyes, unprotected by his goggles, open for her to see, and resisted the urge to pull at his bag anxiously.

Black Hat had said she was his…

How had he acquired her, he wondered? Had she come here of her own will, or coerced? 

What to do with her, Flug wondered. He brought a hand to his chin under his bag and looked at her, really looked at her prostitute outfit and long hair and ankle bracelet --

Hmm. She had one just like his own, Black Hat owned and operated.

His mind filed that away and immediately returned to potential uses, experiments he could try now with a subject other than himself. Nothing that would kill her, of course, he had to keep her alive, unless Black Hat had more where she came from --

She was taking her shirt off.

"What, what?! Stop!" Flug cried, slapping his hands over his eyes, and he heard her movements cease.

"Aren't you going to have sex with me?" She asked in Spanish, and Flug's heart stopped a second as he was thrown back into his childhood home, nursing bruises, crying silently --

"No, no, no, no, no," Flug said, retreating into his room and closing the door, leaning on the wall and taking quick breaths.

He forced himself to stop, shook his head a little. He grabbed his goggles from the bedside table -- it was 6 AM, his bedside clock said -- snapped them on over his eyes and sighed in relief. 

They were roughly the same height. She would fit his clothes.

He pulled out some sweatpants and a gray t-shirt, walked to his door.

"Are you clothed?" He asked in Spanish.

"Sí," she replied, and he opened the door wide enough so she could see into his room. He suddenly realized that it was still dark, seeing the low light from the hallway spill in, and fumbled for the light switch, flicked it on, stared at her. She looked at him.

"Um," he said, holding out his clothes towards her.

She looked at them.

"What's this?" She asked.

"Y-you can, um, take a shower and change into these. If you want to."

"Fine," she said tonelessly, taking them into her hands. "Where's your shower?"

Flug opened his mouth, about to say 'in here' and take her into his bedroom, but oh science that was the last place he wanted her right now. Not that prostitutes were bad or anything but he didn't want her to think he was her new master or some weird shit. She was for science, not sex.

He slipped past her and began walking briskly to the primary bedroom at the end of the hall. It was bigger, yes, but he had picked his bedroom specifically because it was smaller. Cozier. The primary bedroom had a bathroom attached, she could use that.

He turned to make sure she was following, and yes, she was, at a distance out of arm's reach.

"My name is Kenning Flugslys, but I'd prefer if you called me Dr. Flug," he said to her.

He waited for a beat, then two.

"What's your name?"

"Maria," she replied. Flug opened the door for her as they arrived.

"There's a bathroom attached," he said. "You can shower there, and sleep if you like. If you get hungry, the kitchen is on the first floor. Black Hat doesn't care if you wander the first two floors, but don't go into my laboratory and don't go to the third floor. That's his."

Maria nodded.

"I'll come to find you if I need anything," Flug said. "And you can usually find me in my lab if you need something. And a few words of advice, since you're living here now -- there are three rules. Do exactly what Black Hat says, don't mess with your ankle monitor because it WILL electrocute you and it DOES hurt, and NEVER mess with Black Hat or you WILL end up dead."

"Okay," Maria said. Flug turned to leave but then --

"Wait," She said, and Flug whirled, surprised. It was the first time she hadn't sounded completely neutral.

"What's going to happen to me?" She asked apprehensively. Flug blinked. 

"Well," Flug said, pushing his fingers together, "I'm a scientist, engineer, and accountant for Black Hat and his company. Usually, I test things on myself, but Black Hat, ah, acquired you for me to test on. If you end up working for Black Hat, you'll probably get a decent salary."

The woman nodded, a peculiar expression coming onto her face.

"Will it hurt?"

"No," Flug lied. "I'm not a sadist."


End file.
